


show

by soulshrapnel



Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [23]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Multi, Power Imbalance, Switching, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulshrapnel/pseuds/soulshrapnel
Summary: Ever since Natasi Daala found out that Vader and Tarkin are together - and that Tarkin, always so commanding with her,submitsto Vader - she's wanted to see what that looks like.Tonight, Vader's going to grant her wish.(Kinktober, Day 23: Double penetration in one hole)
Relationships: Natasi Daala/Wilhuff Tarkin/Darth Vader
Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947379
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Kinktober 2020





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**Author's Note:**

> Whew okay so as we go into the last 1/4 or so of Kinktober, we are entering a PROMPTSTRAVAGANZA! Like the first half of the month was pretty light in prompts, but today kicks off five straight days of prompts by different people, and then the final four days of the month also have two more prompts in them. This should be fun!
> 
> Today's prompt is from a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous:  
>  _i did have another idea for you inspired by the daala/tarkin/vader prompter. something like an intensional voyeurism, vader domming tarkin and tarkin having her watch, excited but not allowed to join in until he or vader give the order_
> 
> The prompt didn't come with a specific day or a specific listed kink, so I just sort of matched it to one of the unclaimed kinks that seemed to fit with it.
> 
> I had way too much fun with this one, as you can tell from the fact that it's like 5x longer than most of the other Kinktober entries, and also a day late >.>

Grand Admiral Daala didn't know if there was a word for what she'd become, relationship-wise. A mistress to two emperors? Was the word _mistress_ appropriate when it was all more or less in the open? A shared plaything? A concubine? Nobody seemed interested in putting a label on it. The military officials she dealt with at work were wise enough not to ask about it to her face.

She could have explained it in a few sentences, at least, if not a single word. She loved Emperor Tarkin, who loved both her and Emperor Vader. She had been with Tarkin for years, since long before he was an Emperor. Vader was a more recent addition, but he and Tarkin shared a kind of spark that even Daala didn't fully understand, and he'd turned out to be good enough in bed that Daala didn't mind. On quite a few occasions now, Tarkin had invited her to the Imperial bedroom, or let her tag along on one of his visits to Mustafar, so that both emperors could have their wicked way with her at once. Tarkin did it physically, in his usual varied ways, and Vader used his kaleidoscopic skill with the Force.

Daala liked these encounters just fine, thank you. But there was one thing that she wanted very much and hadn't had, yet.

She wanted to see what it looked like when Tarkin submitted.

He had always been the dominant partner with her, and in truth, she didn't want that any other way. But it had never been a secret that he switched sometimes, with other men. With Vader, that _sometimes_ had become a constant thing. Vader either couldn't submit or didn't want to - Daala was hazy about the specifics - but something about his way of hurting, with the Force, had been just what Tarkin's masochistic side needed.

Daala had gotten a little obsessed with that idea. Tarkin seemed invulnerable to her, untouchable, always perfectly in control. What did it look like when he wasn't? What was it about Vader, what made him so strong , that even a man like Tarkin could bow his head and be claimed?

Tonight, they'd all agreed, would be the night she found out.

"Strip yourself and kneel," Vader said, pointing to her. They were in the Imperial bedroom, a big room decked out in Tarkin's favorite grays, with a canopy bed in its center. They had negotiated a good deal of this in advance, and she'd known he would start with that, but there was still something about taking orders that went to her head. "Do not speak, or move, or touch yourself until you are directly instructed to."

Daala nodded and obeyed. She left her clothes in a neat pile beside her and settled down in a comfortable position, her knees resting on the relative softness of the veermok hide that Tarkin used as a bedside rug. Daala could kneel like this, motionlessly obedient, for a long time.

When she was settled, Vader turned to Tarkin, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, straight-backed. Vader liked to improvise, and Tarkin's role in this encounter hadn't been negotiated much, beyond the fact that he would submit in the ways he often did. Pain and restraint, yes; sex, yes; orders, yes, within their usual bounds. Whatever those were. Vader had a keen sense of drama, and Daala suspected that he had kept it vague on purpose just for her. He wanted her to wait with bated breath, unsure just what he would do or how far he would take it, until she saw for herself.

"I feel your fear," said Vader, stalking around Tarkin in a half circle.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "Your senses must be malfunctioning, then. I'm not afraid of you."

"You do not fear me," Vader agreed. "You fear looking weak in front of _her._ "

"That's not-" Tarkin argued, but his words were cut off as Vader lifted him bodily up off the bed.

Tarkin floated an inch off the ground, and Vader stripped the clothes off of him. This much, at least, Daala was familiar with. Vader had treated her this way, lifting her up with the Force and efficiently exposing her body, in most of their encounters. She'd even seen him do to Tarkin, sometimes, when he was getting impatient or when they jostled for power. This was different only because of how Tarkin let it happen, how he focused entirely on Vader.

"Now," said Vader, "I will attune to your senses."

Daala knew he was narrating the encounter for her benefit. The things Vader did with the Force weren't always visible, exactly. Vader didn't touch his partners directly, and he didn't involve his own body in sex. Instead he focused on their bodies until he could feel their pain and pleasure himself.

There was a physical sensation that went with this process, in which every inch of exposed skin was lightly tested and explored. Tarkin must be feeling that now, but there was very little in his expression to show it. Only the occasional flare of his nostrils, the tiniest hitch of his breath. Daala had no idea which part of him Vader was touching when.

She focused instead on the sight of his bare body, hovering there. Tarkin wasn't physically to everyone's tastes - he was old, of course, and gaunt, and covered in battle scars - but Daala liked those things. They were a perfect expression of who he was as a person, and she knew them so well. She let herself silently take in his soft cock, the hollow of his throat, the scarred curves of his calves. The little dustings of graying hair.

She wondered, idly and not for the first time, what Vader looked like under his armor. She wondered what it was like for Vader to look people's bodies hungrily up and down, with his own body so thoroughly hidden away. Did he even look for the same things a normal person did, or did he only think about his Force senses, about how each body would feel from the inside?

"Now," said Vader at last, "we will begin with something simple."

Tarkin made the smallest noise, a sharp inhale, as if he'd been startled. And then he gave a small, lazy smile. He wasn't looking at Daala at all. "Oh, come now, Vader. You can hit me harder than that."

Whatever had happened, it seemed to happen harder the second time. Daala could see the signs, now that she'd had a moment to think about it, of pain. Some kind of light impact play, only the impact itself was invisible, and the motions Vader made were miniscule. Daala had been subject to things like this herself, several times now, but she'd never fully realized how peculiar it would look from the outside.

"Do I try your patience?" said Vader.

"Not at all. You've barely tried anything."

It was ordinary bravado, and Daala wondered if Tarkin was acting that way just to show off. He didn't want to look weak in front of her, after all - Vader had picked up on that. But she didn't think that was all of it. There was an ease to the banter, as if it was the sort of thing they said every time.

This was how Tarkin submitted, then - or this was part of it. Acting as unaffected as he could, to the point of scorn. Inviting Vader to try harder to break him.

Daala liked that, she decided. It suited him.

The pain seemed to build, gradually, the way pain usually did in a scene like this. She saw Tarkin setting his jaw against it, glaring at Vader defiantly.

"You are trying harder than normal," Vader observed, languidly circling him. "Normally this level of pain would produce a sound from you, at least. I like when you groan for me."

"I only do that when you earn it," Tarkin replied.

"You haven't even demanded that I speak to you yet."

"You're speaking now."

"You know perfectly well the kind of demand I mean."

Daala knew that, too, actually. She knew Tarkin liked mind games. She'd seen him with Vader, when they were both focused on her, demanding that he narrate what he was doing to her. She could infer what sort of dominant talk he might want from Vader when they were alone.

But it seemed that both of them were trying to show off for her, and both of them disagreed, ever so slightly, about what sort of show it would be.

Daala suppressed a grin _._ This was going to be _delightful._

"But you are right," Vader continued, low and silky. "If I want any satisfying display, I will have to force one from you."

And he abruptly threw Tarkin to the floor.

Tarkin landed in a heap, with less of a sound than he should have made. Barely any sound at all, actually - it took Daala a moment to realize he was still hovering an inch in the air. He writhed, and then his limbs snapped into a position Daala would never have dared imagine - low on his belly, hands invisibly restrained behind his back, legs spread.

He was not looking at Daala - his head wasn't bent that way, and Daala suspected Vader had chosen that for him, too. But he was less than two feet from her, where she knelt watching him. Daala felt her breath catch. She wasn't sure she dared breathe.

She did breathe, though, shallowly, as Vader went through his next round of impacts, or whatever he was doing. She still didn't know what kind of pain it was, or where exactly it had been placed on Tarkin's body, but she could see its rhythm. She could see it was more than before: that was plain enough from the faces Tarkin made, despite himself. The way he winced. The way small, rhythmic grunts did begin to escape him; the way he groaned, once or twice, at something especially bad.

This was one of the things she had hoped to see. Tarkin in Vader's clutches. Tarkin suffering. She couldn't see his face, but she could only imagine that he must like it, the same way she did. That the pain released something in him.

This was hot, actually. Though she was not sure she could have admitted it, if Tarkin had been looking straight at her.

Vader placed a black-booted foot on Tarkin's bare shoulder. "You are mine."

"Am I?" said Tarkin, strained, between grunts.

"If you had only asked for pain," said Vader, "I could have kept going like this. I could work at you with agonies of my choosing until you screamed for me."

Tarkin made a dismissive noise, rendered a bit less effective by the strain in it. "I seem to recall you've - nngh - failed at that more often than you've succeeded."

Daala stifled a smile. By phrasing it that way, Tarkin was admitting Vader _had_ made him scream sometimes. Ooh, she wanted to hear that.

"But I _recall,_ " Vader continued, "that this was not all you asked for. You also agreed you would follow my orders."

For the tiniest second, Tarkin froze.

"You've yet to give any," he managed, but Daala could see he was rattled. He had agreed to this in the negotiations - which didn't mean he couldn't still safeword out of it, if he wanted to. But in the negotiations it had sounded like this was a common thing for them. Now it sounded like Tarkin had cold feet. He could take orders - but something in him flinched away from taking them in front of _her._

Daala resisted the urge to lean forward again.

"Will you take them?" Vader asked again, impatient.

Tarkin rose to that the way he rose to any challenge. "Yes, of course I will."

He suddenly seemed to relax, his limbs going limp against the floor. Vader had let go of him. The pain seemed to have ended for now, or at least lessened. There was no more of the grunting or the shaky breathing, at least.

"Look at me," Vader instructed, "not at her. Kneel."

Tarkin rose to one knee, genuflecting as anyone would for his emperor. Daala noticed the precision of his movements, stiffly correct. Vader had positioned himself so that they were side-on, from Daala's perspective; she could see enough of Tarkin's face to see his expressions. He was obedient, though; he didn't look at her.

"Bow your head," said Vader, and Tarkin did.

They stayed like that for a breathless moment. Daala, perfectly still, felt a heat between her legs. This was the other thing she'd dreamed of seeing: Tarkin on his knees, exactly like this, preparing himself to serve his lover with perfect devotion. It had been exactly like this in her fantasies. She might have touched herself, watching this tableau - the way she'd touched herself, on other nights, to the image of it in her mind - if she hadn't been told not to. But of course Daala was obedient, and she stayed still. She had no real idea what was supposed to come next.

"How will you serve me tonight?" Vader asked.

She couldn't see Tarkin's face, but she could _hear_ his arched eyebrow. "You're the one who wanted to give the orders. I should think that's up to you."

This was so very hot to look at, but it was also very different from the way Daala understood submission. Tarkin endured what Vader did to him, and he did what Vader told him to do, but there was no actual devotion in his voice, none of the bliss of acquiescence that Daala felt when she was hurt and ordered around by her favorite people. His defiance had suited him perfectly when they were just playing with pain, but now it seemed strange. He didn't struggle, exactly, but he seemed to want to be pushed into it at every step, so as to keep his snarling pride. Clearly he was getting something out of this, or he wouldn't have done it - but Daala wasn't sure she quite understood what that was.

"As you wish." Vader took a step closer to Tarkin, looming right over him. He gestured to his lower body. "Serve me with your mouth."

Tarkin bent down, lowering his face toward Vader's feet, but Vader caught him before he could get there, taking him by the chin with one gloved hand. Daala's toes silently curled; Vader had never touched her with his actual hands, and he rarely even touched Tarkin that way in front of her.

"Not my boots," Vader said impatiently. He let go of Tarkin and tapped the plate of rigid durasteel between his own legs. "Here."

Daala's eyes went very wide.

She was abruptly unsure what was going to happen. She'd wondered, in her first encounters with Vader, if that suit might have convenient openings; but of course it didn't, or at least, if it did, she hadn't seen him use them. She had been so curious, minutes ago, about what his body looked like underneath. Was he really going to...?

But he didn't, of course. There were no openings. There was only the plate of armor. Tarkin leaned in, obedient, and pressed his lips to it.

Daala watched, breathless, the way he crouched there on one knee. The way his pale tongue flicked out, gliding against the black durasteel. A small movement caught her eye between Tarkin's legs: he was often slow to warm up, given his age, but it appeared this was finally getting to him. Vader had hurt him, made him humiliate himself, and whatever scornful poise he played at, Tarkin _liked_ it.

She was reminded of the way Tarkin would sometimes brush his own fingers between her legs in the middle of some awful torment, remarking on how she dripped with need for him. Faces could be set into stony defiance; words could be chosen however the speaker preferred; but some things didn't lie.

Tarkin raised his head back up after a moment, meeting Vader's gaze. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes didn't waver. He'd met this challenge; he'd meet whatever came next.

"Tell me you love me," Vader purred.

And Tarkin hesitated. As if it was an even deeper concession than what had come before. Daala _knew_ how they both felt about each other - they did everything together; they'd taken over the galaxy together; they were practically married. Of course they loved each other. But Tarkin couldn't quite say it, kneeling this way, in front of Daala; he stammered slightly. "Of- of course I do, Vader, don't be ridiculous-"

"No. Say it properly."

Tarkin took a very deep breath. Daala shivered as he looked back up at Vader with a strange expression on his face, vulnerable and determined, the most naked he'd been since he entered the room. "I love you."

"Yes," Vader growled.

He picked Tarkin up with the Force and threw him down onto the bed, face-up. This time Daala was sure he'd actually landed, instead of hovering; she could tell from how the bed trembled when he hit it.

She could only halfway see from where she was, but she could see enough. She could _hear_ the sounds Tarkin suddenly made - he wasn't working so hard to suppress them anymore, and they weren't only pain grunts but pleasure as well. She could see how his cock stood all the way straight, how his breath came fast, how the muscles in his neck worked as if he would have writhed, had Vader allowed him the movement.

"Now you will get your reward," Vader murmured, as Tarkin twitched and strained underneath him.

Daala worked on trying to slow her breathing. If she panted the way Tarkin was panting, she suspected that would count as a movement. She worked on memorizing every visual and auditory detail of this, for later.

After about half a minute - without stopping anything else he was doing, or even turning to her - Vader spoke up again. "Grand Admiral. Stand."

Daala stood. She was practiced at making this movement gracefully. Her legs twinged slightly. Her inner thighs were damp; it was more noticeable now that she was moving. She did not speak, since he hadn't told her to do that.

"You like what you see," he said. It wasn't a question. He was focused on Tarkin, feeling with Tarkin's senses, and he couldn't focus that way on two people at once; but he still had some awareness of her mind, simply from the fact that it was a mind and it was near him.

"Yes, my lord," she said.

"Come closer," he said.

Daala walked up beside him, unsure what he expected of her. Her face burned. She had seen Tarkin in the throes of pleasure before, plenty of times, but she had never seen him like _this._ His eyes fluttered open and shut. She could see him working his jaw, trying to keep some scrap of composure - he certainly wasn't moaning or begging the way _she_ did - but he was not at all in control of what he felt. He'd let her be on top before, sometimes, smiling fiendishly up at her and guiding her hips with his hands, but even then he hadn't looked like this, helpless on his back, half writhing. He was undone.

She didn't know what she wanted. She wanted to touch him, run her fingertips along the impossible broken hollows of his body. But she feared that if she did - even if she was ordered to do it - she'd ruin it. This was something that had happened between Tarkin and Vader, even if they were playing to her watchful eyes. She didn't know where she could safely insert herself into it. She'd rather if Vader gave her the order she'd assumed he'd give - to sit close by and get herself off with her hands, silently, while the two of them finished. That seemed the wisest course.

But she would do what she was told, of course. At times like these, that was a need that ran deeper than fear.

"You wish to touch him," said Vader. "Touch him."

Holding her breath, Daala reached out and ran a hand along Tarkin's lower leg - the closest part of him in reach.

Tarkin's gaze steadied for a moment, and he looked over at her, as if remembering she was there. A flicker of confidence, of mischief, returned to him. He was panting, but his words came out clearly enough. "There's no need to - hesitate, my dear. I'm not - breakable."

His eyes fluttered shut again. Daala was here, after all, in the scene. He had acknowledged her, he had spoken to her more or less as he always did, and none of the rest of it had gone away.

Daala climbed half-up on the bed, emboldened. She ran her fingers up and down Tarkin's body, fascinated. Vader loosened his Force-grip and allowed a little more movement, and she watched as he arched under her, his ribs pressing up against her hand.

"Do you understand," said Vader, "what I am doing to him?"

Daala looked up at his opaque black mask. It seemed too obvious, like it must be a trick question, but she knew he needed a response.

"You're stroking him, I think," said Daala, looking back down at Tarkin's cock and the ways that it throbbed and twitched. She didn't dare touch _that_ without permission. "With the Force. And you're hurting him at the same time."

"Yes," said Vader, and then Tarkin arched again, harder than before, making a beautiful wordless sound as his thighs parted. "And now I am inside him. Stand up."

Daala swallowed hard as she obeyed. She didn't want to talk anymore, or to run her hands lightly and teasingly over anything. She hoped this was it; she hoped Vader would tell her she could touch herself now, while she watched Tarkin get fucked by a man even bigger and stronger than he was. That was all that she wanted to do.

"Tell me," said Vader. "Has Emperor Tarkin ever asked you to put your fingers inside him?"

"Yes, my lord," said Daala. He liked that sort of thing sometimes. There were ways he could demand it without submitting at all, the way he demanded other sex acts; ways he could ensure she did exactly what he wanted and when. But this was not like that at all.

There was a bottle of lubricant on one of the bedroom's side tables, and Vader levitated it carelessly over to her. "Do that now. Assist me."

"What," said Tarkin from the bed, opening one eye. "You don't think you can handle the job yourself?"

The question was followed with another hard grunt, and Daala suspected Vader had answered by hitting him.

Daala took a breath and obeyed, slicking her fingers, kneeling at the edge of the bed to get into position. She reached down cautiously between Tarkin's hips. He wasn't as loose or prepared as she would have assumed, given what Vader was doing to him; the Force must not take up much physical space. But she worked her way in without too much difficulty. She crooked her fingers at the right spot, and he made a most gratifying sound.

She was still painfully aroused, but it was easier to bear when she could focus on _doing_ something. If she was doing something, she could engage the decisive, task-oriented part of her mind. She could put her professional face back on. Even if, deep down, she was still watching Tarkin's reactions with something like awe. Every time she moved in him, he responded - but his responses were strange, stronger than the ones she was used to. For every little sound or movement that she knew was her own doing, there were three or four others that could only have been because of Vader. They were both inside him at once. She couldn't feel Vader, swirling and moving around her fingers, but she knew.

"Surely that's not _all_ you're going to have her do," said Tarkin.

Daala responded by crooking her fingers harder, rougher, and he groaned in a strange, doubled way: she suspected that, a split second after her, Vader had done something similar.

"I don't quite understand it, my lord," Daala said. She felt oddly bold. Dominance wasn't Daala's kink, but if she was working at a task, then it was easy to speak the way she did at her actual work, cold and to-the-point. "Does he ever stop talking back to you? If he's yours, why wouldn't you train that out of him?"

"He is untrainable," Vader said fondly, looking down, absorbed in Tarkin's senses. "But he has his uses."

"The day you try to _train_ me," Tarkin said through his teeth, "is the day-"

But Vader hit him again, or whatever it was, and it all became very disjointed from there. Tarkin tried to be clever, but he was reaching the point where he could speak only in fragments. Daala worked her fingers harder inside him. It was only a minute more before he arched, crying out, and came all over his own body.

Daala carefully withdrew her hand. Vader levitated a disinfectant wipe over to her, and she cleaned her fingers, catching her breath. She could scarcely believe she'd done that. Being invited in this way, getting some tiny taste of what this might feel like for Vader, had been worth not getting to touch herself. Maybe Tarkin pretended that he didn't ever really submit, maybe his sharp tongue helped him pretend it, but she'd seen him kneeling. She'd seen his abject face when he told Vader he loved him. She knew what was at the heart of this now.

On the bed, Tarkin made a movement, trying to get back up. Vader held him down. "We are not yet finished here."

"I should hope not," Tarkin muttered. "You haven't even offered any aftercare-"

But Vader pressed him further down, and he relented for now. Vader turned in Daala's direction, instead. She straightened, putting down the disinfectant wipe; there was something indefinably intense about Vader's gaze, something that made her more aware of the ache between her legs.

"Now, Grand Admiral," said Vader, "you have two choices. You have been good. You must satisfy yourself, somehow."

"Yes, my lord." So far, that was only one choice. But Daala remembered that Vader had a low tolerance for any kind of teasing or edging. He wanted everyone to be satisfied. Mostly that applied to the person whose senses he shared, but he must feel some of the sexual tension radiating from Daala, too. She was right next to him, after all.

"You may do it yourself, with your hands." Vader's head tilted slightly. "Or, if you prefer, we could involve Emperor Tarkin."

She looked at Tarkin on the bed, her eyes widening, uncertain. Vader hadn't allowed him to clean himself yet; he was sticky with his own juices, and Daala knew that sort of thing would be an irritant to him. Maybe it was just that she was so aroused already. She'd seen him, bending to Vader's will, even as he pretended not to be bent. What would it be like if he did that for her? Even in the simplest way.

"He is not your master tonight," said Vader. "I can make him crawl to you on his knees. I can refuse to set him free until he has pleased you. Not because you order it, but because _I_ do. Do you want that?"

Daala took a long look at Tarkin, mouth dry.

She shouldn't want it. Tarkin was in command of her; that was how it was supposed to go. She liked what he did to her. She liked having a higher authority, an authority she loved, in her life.

But Daala had given so much of herself to Tarkin, so much of her body, so much of her life. So much of her very idea of herself. She had wanted to give those things, but sometimes it hurt so much.

Tarkin, for a sly moment, looked back at her. His gaze was cool and knowing. He wasn't afraid. _Do what you like,_ that look seemed to say. _We both know you'll still be mine in the morning._

That was why she'd had this fantasy of him with Vader in the first place, she supposed. So much of her was irrevocably Tarkin's. Some part of her did want to know he could be broken, as she could. Some part of her did want to see him crawl.

Daala took a deep breath, and she raised her chin.

"Yes, my lord," she said. "I want that."

**Author's Note:**

> I am noticing that the prompted stories tend, statistically, to go on a little longer than the random unprompted ones. BUT don't get your hopes up if you have a prompt coming, I am actually going to try really hard to have them NOT all be this long, so that I can catch back up to the schedule. I wanna get you all your stories on time and not die in the process!! (Although, what a way to go...)


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